Peering Into The Pages
by ShanniC
Summary: [COMPLETE] Have you ever wanted to know what it is Helga's always writing about? What could be written in the pages of her little pink book that has Helga so enthralled? Let's take a peek inside of one of Helga's little pink books.
1. Quiet Admiration: Brainy

Author's Notes: These are merely drabble pieces I wrote about Helga and her little pink books. What could be written in those engrossing pages that have her so enthralled? The poems at the beginning of each chapter are original. Let's take a peek inside of Helga's little pink books. What could she be writing about her peers?

Disclaimer: I still do not own Hey Arnold. :(

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**Peering Into The Pages**

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Quiet Admiration

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_The whisper of my sonnets float to eager ears  
__My dreams of an unrequited love create his saltine tears  
__He shivers when he hears my words romance his bashful heart  
__Poetry he believes, is my innate skill—I know don't do justice to the art  
__Everyday he follows me, stifling privacy that is never afforded  
__Even now he's the reason for this rhyme that I've recorded_

--- Page 27 of the Little Pink Book

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I don't know why I wrote a poem about him. I was bored I suppose. Phoebe was engrossed in the third Harry Potter novel to pay too much attention to me. Usually at lunchtime, I could be found terrorizing my classmates, but today felt like a writing day. To be perfectly honest, everyday was a _writing_ day, but I rarely wrote during recess.

After failing to pull Phoebe from her novel, I went over to the abandoned swings, sat down and began to write. Normally, my little colorful book with the lavender and indigo pages would be filled with odes to Arnold, but today felt different. I found myself watching the other children as they played, and I felt uninspired. Could it be that Arnold was not only the inspiration for my poetry, but was he also my only driving force?

Before I could think about things too deeply, he was there. As always, he crept upon me like a snake in the night. I heard the tale tell wheezing that was his trademark. My hand with up, as if I meant to hit him. Instead of hitting him, I put pen to paper and scribbled furiously. I ignored his hovering, although it took everything within me not to punch him. Just as I was finishing the last line in my third stanza, a tear fell from above me, blotting the pretty lavender page. A large wet, inky smudge had ruined a portion of my poem.

I was about to hit him, (for real this time) but when I saw the tears fall from his pale cheeks something stopped me. His thick glasses fogged up, and with a shaking hand he wiped them thoroughly. I stood from my swing, facing him fully now. He closer to me, and grabbed my hand gently. Suddenly, I felt guilty. I had not meant to make him cry.

"You... write beautifully, Helga. Your... words are so eloquent... They... make me cry... sometimes, but it's... in a good way."

He wheezed softly, releasing my hand. Unexpectedly, he has managed to catch _me_ unaware. What he says surprises me, and for a moment the tables have turned. Should I give him a gruff comeback? I bite my lip, wondering if I'll later regret my words.

"Gee thanks, uh Brainy that means uh, a lot to me. I guess."

Surprisingly, I mean it. He was constantly following me around, and he always heard my secret soliloquies to Arnold before. He knew how I really felt about Arnold. Hearing his compliment made me feel good in a weird sort of way.

"Now get lost, bucko! I'm writing here!"

I said halfheartedly, ignoring his slight smile. He slunk away as quietly as he had come. Closing my book, my eyes followed his back. Perhaps there was more to Brainy than I had ever realized.


	2. A Pleasant Delusion: Rhonda

**Peering Into The Pages**

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A Pleasant Delusion

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_Vanity, it seems, only blesses those that seek to gain  
__She has been born with the gift of gab coupled with the blight of pride  
__No one, not even her best friend understands her addiction to herself  
__Engrossed in artificial appearance becomes her wasted effort  
__Those that refuse to see the splendor that is within  
__Will never witness the magnificence of true beauty _

**---**Page 14 of the Little Pink Book

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She wore a red sweater. Black pants. The self proclaimed fashion queen of P.S. 118 always wore a red sweater and black pants. If you were to go up beside her, and listen in on another one of her fashion lectures there would always be mention of Caprini boots. Anything that was beautiful, or matched her idea of beauty was praised and welcomed. Many like as myself failed to adhere to her rules, and because of this were under the constant scrutiny of our classmates. When I first met her, I noticed that she liked pretty things, things that were only glossy and wonderful on the outside. When we were younger I would wonder how she would feel if the tables were turned.

Would she buckle under the pressure? Could she meet her own standards? We're in art class now, and she is having trouble grasping the concept of impressionism. Our assignment had been relatively easy, butshe somehow managed to find the homework difficult. I studied her then, laughing and giggling with Lila and I knew that she would never survive if she were to lose all that she loved so much. Her silky black hair and her stylish shoes were just fleeting sources of happiness. If they were to disappear, she would be just another dull person amidst a sea of similitude.

Nevertheless, she managed to prove me wrong. Nadine came into our biology class later on with yet _another_ horsefly specimen. She tried to get her friend to touch the bothersome fly, but like any normal person Rhonda pushed the tiny little bugs away. Grinning like the cat that ate the canary, Nadine pulled out a crystal clear jar, and inside we all could see fuzzy little caterpillars sliding against one another. Though they appeared harmless, most of the girls in the class refused to touch the insects, let alone look get near them.

My curiosity was peaked now, even after several attempts to ignore the shrieks of semi-frightened teenage girls. Even Geraldo, who usually was calm about everything, admitted that he wouldn't touch the poor creatures with a ten foot pole. Our teacher, Mr. McGreeley was not as forgiving. Nadine having already scored her class points for bringing in a live specimen, watched with glee as the class squirmed away from weird looking caterpillars. They looked pretty cute to me, but I sometimes found strange things pretty.

"It's not so bad. It's kind of cute when you think about it. The fuzzy brown and black colors make it look like a fat walking piece of felt."

Rhonda, who had all but returned to her Vogue magazine, waltzed back up to the lab table. She lifted the little creature into her hand, and giggled softly as it slowly crawled in her palm.

"This tickles. You know, these little guys aren't so bad when you think about. I guess they are a little cute."

I smirked at her change of heart.

"They'd have to be if Princess Rhonda likes them."

Phoebe giggled beside me, and the class played with the fuzzy bugs grateful for a brief departure from boring talks about mitochondria.

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Footnotes: Yea, so that was it. What did you think about it? Reviews are both appreciated and welcome.


	3. Ying Yang Twins: Phoebe

Author's Notes:Thanks to the following for reviewing:Blond Cecile** – **Rhonda can have heart, she just needs love too. Number 6 – As always, thanks for reading and reviewing all of my HA fics Pullman lover – I am glad that you are intrigued. I like it when the characters are shown to have deep emotion.

**Peering Into The Pages**

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Ying Yang Twins

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_We are the meeting of the waters—two kindred spirits  
__As always, she listens attentively as I recite my lyrics  
__While I am a raging rapid, she is a calm, peaceful brook  
__Deep inside her lies a champion, noticeable with one look  
__She's so shy and amiable—clearly my antithesis  
__Sometimes I think that without her I'd fall to pieces_

---Page 39 of the Little Pink Book

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Sometimes I'll forget that Pheobe does not always need my protection. When Geraldo comes around, I instinctively feel as if it is my ultimate responsibility to make sure tall hair boy does not try anything. But then she'll remind of her infatuation with him, and I'll grudgingly let his comments slide. Occasionally, I'll feel as if I let her down in some undetectable way. Of course when I confront her about things like this, she usually steers the conversation away from herself and back to me.

I suppose that this tactic of hers could be construed as noble. Pheebs is the kind of person that you'd never intentionally hurt because her goody-goody attitude rubs off on you. Our classmates think that I boss her around, and in some ways I'll admit that I can. I try not to, but she takes it all in stride. She has this quiet air about her. She never speaks unless she expects to amaze the entire room. I don't think that she does this intentionally.

Then there are times when I feel as if perhaps I never knew her at all. She'll say something in her quiet, pensive manner revealing a well kept secret. One time she told me of her love of drawing, and I thought she meant the usual crap that I've seen kids in our class draw. Pheobe is a very talented artist. As I write this, she's sketching my portrait. I imagine that my constant scribbling must be a distraction, but she continues her work. Her small hands make elegant strokes with the charcoal, as my pen scrawls neatly on lavender pages.

"Pheebs, I think that you should submit your work to the school's newspaper. We both know that you're the best sketch artist in our grade. You're probably the best in the school."

She stops suddenly, her charcoal piece falls from her sullied hands. A confused look graces my face as she studies me strangely for a moment. She sighs, shaking her head with frustration. I pause my writing for a moment, unsure of how to address this awkward moment. I move slightly eliciting a hiss from Phoebe.

"I refuse to publicly submit my artwork until you publicly submit a poem."

I frown slightly. We've been through this scenario numerous times. Pheobe thinks that people will understand me better, and that Arnold would probably like me more if I were to publicly showcase my work. She believes that by doing this, people would appreciate me and what I have to offer. Her silly notion meant something to me, if only a little. Of course, my consideration of her request could be traced to the fact that we are best friends.

"I was thinking that if you still do not want to submit anything that identifies you as the poet, we could always work on our previous idea."

Phoebe says, bringing me from my silent reverie. Her fingers rub against the paper, shading the proper areas. We're silent once more, and the only sounds to be heard are our collective pen strokes against paper. I suppose I could do this just once, and I new Phoebe only wanted to coax me out of shell so that she could proudly showcase my talent. We both knew that if she wanted to, Phoebe could just as easily submit her art to the paper and be lauded with praise. She wanted to share the experience, and I could not take that away from her.

"Criminy! Alright Pheebs, it's a deal, but I refuse to write anything mushy! Pass me see your picture."

"Passing!"

She chirps, and even I can't help but laugh at her cheerfulness. Phoebe is definitely one of a kind.

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Footnotes As always reviews make me extra happy. You wouldn't want me to be sad would you? O.o Seeya next update!


	4. Bury The Hatchet: Lila

**Peering Into The Pages**

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Bury The Hatchet

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_In his eyes, she will always be Aphrodite, and I shall be Artemis  
How can she be so saccharin sweet, and yet I hate her still  
My jealously burns a hole in my chest and I wonder—  
Would he suddenly awaken from her unintentional spell?  
Am I doomed to forever love another that does not feel the same?  
A curse has been placed upon me—karmic vengeance at it's best_

---Page 48 of the Little Pink Book

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He's asking her again. This is the third time in two weeks. I wonder if Arnold will understand that Lila does not love him. I wanted him to know that the prettiest people could do the ugliest things. Her sweet country bumpkin act fooled everyone but me. I refused to cave into the charm of someone like her. No one else seemed to be able to see through her sweet façade. Her mannerisms bothered me because she was sickeningly cute when she made mistakes, or gestured as she spoke. She had the kind annoying charisma that made girls like me wish to change ourselves. I have always been a stubborn sort, and no one was going to get me to act differently.

Lila has the teeth rotting sugary personality that always made me balk at her obvious farce. I hated her for many reasons, but my main pet peeve was Arnold's attraction to her. She knew how well she was liked by him, but she pushed it aside. I wrote poems, long tragic poems about this kind of behavior. She may have wanted to shove him away, but I would have gladly taken the remnants of his self esteem and helped him shape it into something wonderful. They're chatting now, and I can see that bashful gleam in his eye. Unwittingly she draws him in, and he is happily fooled.

He offers to carry her books as we head home from school. Pheobe senses the tension in my body, and she places a steady hand against my shoulder. Lila declines his offer, stating that she is staying after school for extra credit. I've got yet another detention for placing glue in Harold's shoes. Phoebe volunteers to stay with me, but we both know that she wants to go with Arnold and Gerald.

It is quiet save for Lila's reading through her assignment. I suppose that I should grateful for the company, but this is Ms. Perfect Lila! I snort when she drops a part of her art assignment to the floor. The green construction paper lies their ignored. She turns to me, gracing me with a knowing smile. I return her grin with a scowl of my own.

"You know, you don't have to try ever so hard Helga."

I say nothing, but my pen drops from my hand, joining the ignored green sheet on the floor. She covers her mouth with a light grin, and melodic laugh elicits from her mouth. Hearing her then, I realized that I also hated her perfect voice, with its perfect giggle. I get up from my seat, looking out the door to make sure no one is coming. Our teachers never actually monitored us while we were in detention.

"Alright bucko, get to the point or Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers will use as a punching bag!"

She sighs, picking up the green sheet from the floor. I silently watch as she makes little green hearts and bells. Even her artwork is 'ever-so-freaking cute. Could the girl ever be imperfect? Could she not make any mistakes at all?

"You'll never get his attention acting this way, Helga. I really don't understand why you dislike me so much.

We both know that's she talking about Arnold. I study her for a moment, quietly waging war with my mind and heart. Should I say anything, or pretend not to know what she's talking about? What the heck, I suppose she'll never tell. She's kept my secret this long, and we're not even friends. Maybe just this once, I could talk about my dilemma with another person besides Phoebe. I retrieve my pen from the floor, and continue to write. We're silent once more, as we engage ourselves with busy work. I sneak a peek at her, watching as she continues her project cheerfully.

"You're the competition."

I say suddenly, and she pauses. Nodding, Lila looks me in the eye then. I know that she does not wish for his affection, and that she only likes him as a friend, but she's still the enemy in my eyes.

"I know, and I don't mean to be. I'd ever so like for the two of us to become friends."

She says in a quiet voice. While she may know that I love Arnold, I wonder if she knows exactly how much I love him. She seems completely sincere with her words. I slammed my little pink book shut. I don't think I can stand another minute with her. I nearly race from the room, needing a respite from the awkwardness. Before I am completely out the door, my quiet reply floats through the room. Lila's offer a possible friendship echoed in my mind.

"Not yet, but maybe some day... in the future."

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Footnotes: Reviews are nice, and I'd like some if you don't mind. Thanks for reading. Peace!


	5. Acceptance: Gerald

**Peering Into The Pages**

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Acceptance

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_A poet's endless rhyme could not properly capture his feelings  
__He has spirited her heart away—I watched it flutter and beat  
__Underneath our shared cynicism, he loves her and yet—  
__A love like his couldn't dare challenge devotion such as mine  
__Intrinsically I knew that he would take her hand in his own  
__Still, I didn't expect that I'd be pleased_

---Page 53 of the Little Pink Book

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Gerald and I have a grudging respect for one another that has grown over the years. The both of us love sports, Arnold and Phoebe among other things. We have those few things in common. We're both stubborn people, who happen to be very territorial with our best friends. I am naturally inclined to be mistrustful of his intentions with Phoebe, and he of course feels the same about Arnold. The difference would be that Gerald does not know that I am in love with Arnold, and everyone can see his infatuation with Phoebe written all over his face. I always knew that eventually he'd come out and say it, but I never expected such an open admission.

He was not a loud person, but he not shy either. Perhaps when boys began to care for a girl, they approached the situation completely differently. I had no way to make a comparison, because I cared too deeply for Arnold to make sense of the matter. We were at Geraldfield, and I was too tired to play in the last game of the evening, decided to sit out and write in my book instead. Phoebe was engrossed in watching Gerald, and I was scribbling furiously in my book. She looked at me nervously, fidgeting every few minutes.

Finally, she stood, nearly rushing to his side as he waited for his turn at bat. I smirked slightly at the sight, happy to see my friend coming out of her quiet shell. The game was over soon enough, and as we sat around chatting, I noticed people breaking off to head home as the twilight settled in. Gerald offered to walk her home, and I could see that she did not want to upset me by leaving with him. Then she remembered that she and Arnold had to leave early for some unknown reasons. I surmised that they had a science project to finish. My lab partner was Nadine, so I knew we'd ace our project. Harold and Sid had already left, as well as Rhonda and Nadine who had decided to leave after the second inning. Soon, I was left alone with Gerald.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later. See you in the funny papers, Geraldo."

Though my back was to him as I walked in the fading dusk, I knew that he was staring at my back. His eyes seemed to have burned a hole in my dress, but I walked on. Suddenly, I heard the sounds of his thumping feet, pounding the pavement.

"Wait! I mean we're both going in the same direction, so how about I walk you home? You know it's not safe to walk the streets at night all by yourself."

This was odd for Gerald considering the fact that he almost never wanted to be around me longer than necessary. There was an ulterior motive for our late night stroll. He caught up to me quickly enough and I wondered what it was that he wished to discuss. Our footfalls were the only sounds in the night, aside from cars and busy business. Every so often he would look at me, and then turn his eyes away. He knew some sort of secret, and whatever it was I wanted to know about it.

"Why did you _really_ want to walk me home, tall hair boy?"

I said finally, breaking our silent plateau. He stopped walking all of a sudden, turning to face me. Offering his hand to mine, he shook it. I felt a tingly sensation run up my hands, but said nothing. My cheeks however, must have clearly given away my feelings at the moment. Luckily it was dark enough to hide my embarrassment. It's not like I liked him or anything (my love reserved for Arnold alone) but his behavior was foreign. We rarely got along, and the very idea of Gerald shaking my hand was absurd.

"I was hoping that maybe you and I could call a truce. Arnold and Phoebe are our best friends and they are getting tired of our constant bickering. You know they're lab partners this year, and we'll most likely be seeing more of each other. I was hoping that it would be as friends, and if not that at least we could be civil. Arnold is my best friend and I promised him that I would try to get along with you. You tend to make peace between us difficult when you constantly berate me. Can you at least try to get along with me for Phoebe's sake?"

"I'd do anything for Phoebe. Although she doesn't deserve someone like you, I would not do anything to make her upset. I just don't know what she sees in you is all. I must say however, that I am surprised that you finally grew some balls and plan asking her out. "

I say without preamble, surprising us both. He studies me queerly for a moment, before continuing to walk once more. My longlegs soon catch up with him, and continue our amble in silence.

"I'm a decent person Helga. I-I know that you and I don't get along, but we have more in common than you know. We both care very deeply for Phoebe. I know it may seem strange but I think that I could fall in love with her. Besides, we both know that you'll never have enough guts to practice what you preach."

I scoff at his comment, eliciting a barely audible sigh from the boy at my side. Gerald may care about Phoebe, but I would be damned if I let him hurt her. Why was he telling _me_ all this? Shouldn't he be running up to Phoebe confessing all? Still, he had taken a step that neither of us ever imagined we'd be doing. I was a little jealous that he extended the branch of peace before I could, but then again he was right in a sense. Would I ever tell Arnold how I felt? At least he had the courage to admit to me how he felt about her. I was too embarrassed to openly discuss it with my best friend.

"I'm sure that I don't know what you're talking about Geraldo."

I say as we come to my stoop. He smirks at me, completely satisfied with of how he has caught me unaware. I scowl, but it is useless, he continues to give me that annoying grin. I cross my arms, growing irritated with his smug behavior. Shaking my head in frustration, I fumble for my house key. Just as I am almost inside, I can hear his voice call out in the night.

"He's catching on Helga. We both know he's dense, but he's catching on. Telling him the truth might not be as hard as you make it to be. Goodnight."

His words ring in my head, as I walk past a snoring Miriam. If Gerald could see it, then why couldn't Arnold? The truth seemed harder than ever to divulge. I was envious of him at that moment. If only I could tell someone how I felt the same way that he had just told me.

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Footnotes: That's it! Thank you for reading and don't forget to review.


	6. The Dreams Inside: Arnold

Author's Notes: This drabble has come to an end. Originally this was supposed to be eight chapters, but I decided to write about these six characters instead. Thank you to Pullman lover, Smoking Panda, Number6, and Jaded Angel for reviewing. You guys rock my socks! Please read my Helga/Arnold mystery romance _Vanity's Bane_.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold.

**Peering Into The Pages**

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The Dreams Inside

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_Masquerading beneath an angry façade, my love blooms inside my chest  
__The fear wells inside me, and I know that I've been put to the test  
__Can I set aside my pride, my reputation on an ambiguity?  
__My adoration is full and complete, my sole certainty  
__I don't know what I'll do if he rejects all that I have to give—  
__I do know that without him I cannot live_

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"You write beautifully. The poems, I mean."

His voice rang out in the quiet of my room. I shivered slightly, partially because of the cold draft, and the sound of his voice. I could not tell if he was angry with me or not. I do not know how he got in my house, or who let him in but right now Arnold was the last person that I wished to see. Embarrassed by my appearance, I tried to smooth down my messy blonde hair, and wipe the tears that had stained my cheeks. I'm sure that I looked appalling, but he said nothing. We stared at one another, and my stomach felt uneasy. Why had he come? Did he wish to embarrass me further? He stood under the threshold of my doorway, not moving closer. I did not wish to invite him inside, but he would come in regardless. Finally, I came to my senses quickly enough.

"Why did you turn my book in for that poetry contest? Why did you read those poems aloud?"

I rose to my feet on tall, wobbly legs. In his hand he clutched the writing that I had desperately tried to keep secret. I reached for them, in order to yank them from his hand, but he held me back. He clutched my little pink book to his chest as if it were a life saver. I sat back down on the bed, and he took the desk chair from my workstation, and pulled his chair next to me. He was too close for comfort, and I was certain that he could hear my heart beat inside my chest. I tried to edge away from him, but he only scooted closer. His behavior was beginning to irritate me and no matter how embarrassed I may have felt he was beginning to cross a line. I looked away from him then, not wanting to see his face. I did not wish to face the reality of the situation, now or ever. My wishes were not to be granted. I managed to avoid him during most of the school day, but he had followed me home, even after I raced from the school.

"I did it because they were beautiful poems. _You're_ a beautiful person, and I wanted to share your work with the world. You are very talented, and you shouldn't be ashamed of your writing. The way you captured everyone was beautiful and full of emotion. I never thought you or anyone at our school would be able to describe emotions that we as kids have yet to experience."

Arnold grasped my chin gently, guiding me to face him. His eyes had never before seemed so intense. His hand releases my chin, and for a moment I feel a vague emptiness at the loss of his touch. I sat with my head bowed down, ashamed of my weak behavior and of my feelings. What exactly did he expect to accomplish by coming here? Everything feel's different because everything was different. My feeling and emotions were better left upon the shelf, but now they were exposed. I was completely naked with my secret. Nothing could hide me from the truth of everyone knowing how I felt. Worst of all, _he_ knew how _I_ felt. No longer did I hold the upper hand here. I was not going to be able to bully him into submission like before. The tables turned as my poetry was read aloud to my schoolmates.

"You've given me my book back. You can leave now. Goodbye, Arnold."

I say, standing by the door. He remains immobile, and even takes it upon himself to lie on my bed. My cheeks redden at his current position, and I curse my pale skin. He refuses to move, and I am too upset to deal with him now. I feel stupid, angry, saddened, and depressed. I wish he could just leave me alone. I march over to my bed, and drag him into a sitting position by his collar. Arnold's smile is erased completely, and is now a full smirk. Just as I was about to physically force him from my room; he pulls me unto his lap. I try to squirm from his grip, but he shows surprising strength. Arnold had never been my physical better, but as we grew older physiology changed him. We struggle for a few moments, but I was already exhausted from crying before he had arrived. After a moment I give in, heaving deeply with a mixture of sobs and jagged breathing.

"Let me go! Why can't you just go away and leave me alone?! Why couldn't you have just minded your own business? Why did you have to invade my privacy like that? That book was personal, but you had to butt in like you always do and decide to read my private poems! Even if you had read my poetry, you didn't have to submit it! I hate you! Let me go dammit!"

I screamed, finally managing to pry his arms from my waist. Now I knew what Phoebe and Arnold had planned that night they had run off and left me alone with Gerald. He had planned this all along, and while Phoebe was my best friend I could never stay mad at her. Nevertheless, she knew how self conscious I was about my poetry. I suspected something was afoot when she avoided me the entire day. I never had felt such a betrayal than when I heard my writing read aloud to my peers. Arnold had snatched my book without Phoebe knowing that day at Gerald. Yet, when she had found out later that night she did nothing. She didn't even _tell_ me he had my poems.

"I had come here hoping that maybe, _finally_, you'd admit it to me. If you could not admit the truth to me, I was hoping that you could admit it to yourself. One day I thought you'd be able to accept that maybe I could love you. How can you write such beautiful poetry about me, and deny me and everyone else to get to know the writer that wrote these poems? Phoebe only gets a glimpse of what should be seen by everyone on a daily basis."

"For quite sometime now, you've been on my mind. At first I didn't know why that was exactly, but after watching you interact with our class these past few weeks. I began to notice that you were acting different. You seemed more open and sincere lately. Then when I talked with Gerald, he told me about your conversation. I didn't realize what I was seeing at first, but it all came together. I saw you speaking with Brainy, and Lila told me about what happened between you two. After careful observation I realized that I was seeing the real Helga. I then saw the person that you really were, and desperately wanted to know her."

I wanted to take this moment and stuff it into a tiny little box, placing it at the bottom of the ocean, never to be opened again. My mind was waging war with my heart. I didn't know whether to laugh of cry, but I knew that there may never be another opportunity like this for me again.

"You never knew me. You may have seen through my façade, but you can't see into my heart. Would it have made a difference if I had told you the moment that I knew? You would not have wanted me then, just as you do not want me now."

I say bitterly, facing away from him. My eyes scan the street below me, and I wonder about what he is thinking. My head is bowed once more, and I am thankful that Arnold cannot see my tears as they fall from my face. He walks to me, reaching for my hand. Our palms touch as he returns my lost treasure.

"I beg to differ. I wanted to get to know Helga the poet, but you never let me. You locked her away. I want to know Helga the writer, the sensitive person hidden behind this mask. I always wanted to know her, but you always pushed me away. After I had gotten a glimpse of you true self on the FTI rooftop, I realized that I wanted to get to know you as you truly are. Will you let me?"

I brought my eyes timidly to his face and for the first time, the flutter in my stomach evaporated. Looking into his eyes I could see his resolve in getting to know me as I really am. The book falls from out hands to the floor.

"Yes."

My reply falls from my lips, a barely audible whisper. In an instant I was in his arms, letting the words fall from my mouth. The pain, the joy, the heartache—everything came out in that moment. Our lips joined tentatively, and I felt warmth inside my heart that I thought would remain cold forever. He held me then, stroking my back as he assured me that everything would be fine from now on. The soft whispering of his voice eased my mind. As he promised to be there for me, willing to love me as much as I loved him, nothing else mattered. The good and the bad things in my life faded away. I wanted to stay like this forever.

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_FIN_


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